


As You Are

by sockslost



Category: Rizzoli & Isles
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Rizzles, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, One Shot, Rizzles, but heavy on the comfort, low-key angst, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 08:42:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sockslost/pseuds/sockslost
Summary: Jane sits out in the cold in front of the house she now shares with Maura unable to make herself go inside. But Maura, as always, finds her and comforts her.





	As You Are

**Author's Note:**

> So I had two prompts and I combined them into this one fic. One was the phrase: “your scars are my favorite part” and the other was write something mildly angsty but also fluffy to the song of As You Are by Daughtry (sidebar: SUCH a Rizzles song.) So, I hope you both are happy with this!! Thank you so much for the prompts! Thanks for reading/reviewing/kudos-ing!!
> 
> Disclaimer: Don't own. No money. etc. etc.

Shivering slightly, Jane pulls her too thin jacket tighter around herself. Here, in early October, they haven’t quite made it to a full Boston winter yet, but the bite in the air after the sun sets warns it’s coming sooner than later. Jane hates the winter. She’s already dreading the forecast for the week. Winter is when old injuries and old wounds seem to reopen. The bitter cold settles deep in her bones and never quite leaves. It’s ridiculous, really. She’s not even that old.

Half-limping, she drags herself to the steps in front of the house. She all but falls into a sitting position on the first one.

She has a key.

Not only that, but she lives here now, too. (She has to remind herself of that over and over.) She’s allowed to go inside, even at this hour. ( _Especially_ at this hour.) She’s allowed to go upstairs, allowed to slip into the bedroom and slide next to the warm body that promises nothing but comfort and love.

All she has to do is go inside. 

A dry laugh jumps from her throat. Her breath falls in a little cloud in front of her. It’s at that moment, she wishes she’d listened to Maura’s warning that morning to bring her full winter coat rather than the light one she uses for fall. She rubs her stiff hands along the sleeves, trying to liven up her blood.

All she has to do is go inside. 

Was it only just that morning they’d had that argument? Just that morning she’d kissed Maura goodbye before leaving? Of course, she’d seen Maura throughout the day; they had lunch together, Jane had gone to the morgue to pick up and interpret test results. But it’s never the same _out there_ as it is _here._

It’s been such a long day.

Midway through there was a break in one of her ongoing cases. She’d been running – quite literally – ever since. And now, finally, with the initial paperwork out of the way, and an interrogation scheduled for the following day – she can rest.

But she can’t. She is so rest _less_.

Something has crawled underneath her skin and she doesn’t know how to get it out. And, to be honest, if she had anywhere else to go, she wouldn’t be _here._

(But Korsak owns The Robber now. And she’s too old and too tired to even think of attempting to fit in at the other bars around town. But even if she had the energy, there’s something too reminiscent of her childhood in stumbling through a dark house too drunk to steer clear of picture frames and stair bannisters. It’s too close, too real, and she never wants to come home like that. And isn’t that what this is? What the woman inside represents? _Home?_ )

That’s the trouble with living with someone.

They see you. Even when you don’t want them to. Maybe, even, especially then.

Maura has always been her safety net. The thing that can always guide her back home. Even when they barely knew each other. But this part – this new side, this _romantic_ side of things has always left Jane on unsteady ground.

Over the last few months, she has found her footing more and more. She’s gotten the hang of good morning kisses and saying _I love you_ before going into the field. (If she gets to pick her _last words,_ she wants them to be for Maura and she wants them to be those.) She does the dishes and takes out the trash. She wears her vest when she serves a warrant. She’s been good. (She deserves a whole sheet of gold star stickers Maura had jokingly teased to give her before.)

And she knows, god, _she knows._ All she has to do is _go inside._ And Maura will greet her with a sleepy hello. She’ll roll over to Jane’s side of the bed barely awake and grab a body part to snuggle. And she’ll fix it, whatever it is that has her so messed up. She’ll fix it like she always does. But Jane – she can’t make herself move.

It’s not like Maura hasn’t seen this before. This restlessness in her bones that makes her see movement in shadows and hear whispers in the wind. It’s not like she’s never woken Maura up with her tossing and turning. It’s not some big secret, not with Maura anyway.

Jane pinches the bridge of her nose, willing herself to move. Her hands ache – the pain old and familiar, spreads in burning patches through her fingers and into her wrists. She can’t tell if she can’t really feel all of her fingers because of the cold or the pain. She cups them as much as she can around her mouth and blows warm air into her palms.

Light erupts above her and behind her as the porch light turns on and the front door opens.

Maura is standing in the doorway, a curious expression on her face and a too-big-for-one-person fleece blanket over her shoulders. She’s in her purple silk pajama set, her hair in a braid over one shoulder. (While Jane appreciates the slinky, negligees and the short nightgowns – this is also a favorite.)

Jane swallows hard. Her protest dies in her throat as Maura settles next to her on the cold step. Maura moves the blanket so it covers both of their shoulders. Her body is warm and soft and Jane feels herself leaning into the familiar. A hint of shame burns in Jane’s stomach. She closes her eyes and inhales. She’s always making Maura find her, making her chase.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. When Jane opens her eyes looking down, she can’t help giving a bark of a laugh. She buries her face in Maura’s shoulder, grinning. “I can’t believe you’re actually wearing those.”

Maura wiggles her toes making the little turtle heads at the top of her feet move up and down. Last Christmas, Tommy had given them to her. “Of course, I’m wearing them. They were a gift. They’re actually really warm and quite comfortable. You should get a pair.”

Jane shakes her head, already feeling lighter. (Why hadn’t she gone inside again?) Last Christmas, Tommy wouldn’t tell her what he’d gotten for Maura. He’d only told her it wasn’t any of her business. And when Jane had seen Maura open the box, she was about to give him a glare, but Maura had grinned. Tommy spluttered something like _I know you like turtles so…figured they could keep your feet warm in the house._ Later that night, Maura had kissed him on the cheek and he’d gone bright red. “I don’t wear kid sizes, Maura.”

Maura shrugs. She loops her arm through Jane’s and leans into her side. Silence hangs between them. This is familiar territory. Maura knows how to wait Jane out. They are too close to the city to able to see most of the stars, but there are a few that shine brightly through the dense fog and city lights. Their breath leaves clouds in the air around them. Maura waits.

Finally, Jane breaks the silence. “You’re too good to me, Maura.” That’s not what she had intended to say, but it fits all the same.

“Jane.” Soft disapproval seeps into her tone.

“No. I mean.” Jane sighs in frustration. “After a case – sometimes, not always – it just – I feel like such a mess. My heads all…restless.”

“You need to decompress.” Maura translates, her voice as soft and soothing as the hand stroking down Jane’s arm.

Some of the tension leaves Jane’s body. Maura always gets her. “Yeah.”

“We can convert one of the guest rooms into an office for you so you have your own space. I have an office here; it only makes sense that you do too.” Maura snuggles closer as she talks. She pulls Jane’s side of the blanket further around them both. “Or we could build you a _she shed_ in the back yard, then you could _really_ have your own space.”

Jane’s body shakes with laughter. “A _she shed_ , Maura? I think you’ve been reading too many home magazines.”

Maura swats Jane’s bicep. “What’s wrong with a _she shed_? It’s really no different than a _man_ cave. No matter, what you call it, you deserve to have your own space. This is your home too.”

“I know.”

There’s a pause. “Are you having second thoughts?”

“No.” Jane shakes her head vehemently, “never.”

“Okay.”

“Please believe me.”

“I do.” Maura intertwines their fingers. When Jane doesn’t quite answer her squeeze, she looks up into Jane’s face knowing the truth will be there. “Do they hurt?” 

“A little.” Jane shrugs. She swallows hard at Maura’s next touch. Part of Jane wants to resist. She wants to pull her hands away and bury them underneath her thighs so no one can ever touch them again, but the other part of her – it wants nothing more than to burrow into the woman next to her. Safety and love and security and _home_ – those things radiate off of Maura and her silk jammies and turtle slippers in waves. It’s so easy to get lost there, so she does. She doesn’t pull her hand away.

In a barely-there touch, Maura traces up and down each of Jane’s fingers. Goosebumps erupt along Jane’s skin underneath her jacket. Maura’s touch is so light it almost tickles. Then the movement stops for a brief second. Jane bites her bottom lip to keep from groaning out loud when as Maura presses harder and firmer against the middle of her palm. The massage hurts at first, but bit by bit the tense, tight feeling she’s carried all day starts to ease.

“You should do those exercises you pretend to not know about to keep your fingers limber.” Maura gently teases as she moves to Jane’s other hand.

Jane murmurs in agreement. She flexes her free hand. It feels much better – still achy, but not as tight.

They are quiet as Maura works. Jane brings the blanket further around them, now more aware of the cold and the woman she’s brought into it. The tip of Maura’s nose is red and her cheeks have a faint rosy color to them. The tips of Maura’s fingers are almost as cold as her own as they press in and outward on Jane’s palm. They should really go inside.

“Thank you, Jane. For letting me do this.”

Jane doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she doesn’t.

“I know it probably sounds…well, not right, but,” Maura stops what she’s doing, her hold turning gentle and caressing, “your scars are my favorite part.” She admits quietly.

Jane snorts at that. A _whatever_ kind of noise escaping her. She tries to pull away but Maura keeps a firm hold.

Maura doesn’t look up from the hand she’s holding. “You know why?” Her fingers gently stroke the scar tissue in the middle of Jane’s palm. Jane can barely feel it. “I know we met once, before you moved to homicide, but I didn’t really know you.”

“You thought I was a hooker.” Jane laughs, breaking some of the tension in her chest.

“I was _supposed_ to think that.” Maura chides. “So, I never really got to know who you were before this. You were probably a different person.”

“A little.” Jane admits with a nod. She gives a little sniffle, fully prepared to blame it on the cold.

“If I could turn back time and make it so this never happened, I would, but these?” She gestures to the hand in between hers, “they show so much of who you are. And I love you as you are.” Maura admits quietly.

Jane really does sniffle then. She pulls Maura’s hand close to her chest and kisses her knuckles. She doesn’t say it – maybe she will one day – but she knows if she was granted the ability to go back and redo anything she wouldn’t. Every little and big thing has led her to this woman and _god_ she loves this woman.

After a moment, Jane turns her head into Maura’s hair and just breathes her in. “Thank you.”

Maura’s voice is barely above a whisper, “for what?”

“For this. For being you.” Jane feels Maura smile against her shoulder. “I’m sorry I always make you come after me.” There’s a pause, “I love you.”


End file.
